The Shadow
by David Golightly
Summary: Issue Five now available! This ongoing series is a tribute to the original nighttime, pulp hero.
1. The Hearts of Men

Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?

That is the question I have asked many a criminal. It poses a rather interesting series of answers. Various men believe in various gods, who decide what fate rests for each of us. There are even those who fear the type of person they may have become. The evil inside a man can grow…just as it has grown within me.

Some say that whatever is found in a man's heart is what God put there. Life is devoid of choice, and who are we to challenge the Almighty Authority?

I have traveled the world and delved into lost disciplines, exploring what kind of creature man truly is. Fate is something to be grasped, not taken for granted.

For me, the evil that lurks has made me a force that cowardly men have a _right_ to fear. I have become the very essence of the night. Those who would do harm to others are not paranoid when they look over their shoulders…they are smart. They should be afraid.

The question remains: who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?

With my signature laughter, the answer is as it always has been. The superstitious and fearful members of the underworld whisper it to one another while they seek refuge. Hide as they might, I will find them. If Justice is blind then I am her guide. For that question that seemingly haunts evildoers, the answer can be just as terrifying.

The Shadow knows.

----------

_**The Shadow**_

Issue #1

"The Hearts of Men"

----------

_New York City, 1938_

"Lamont! Lamont Cranston!"

Swirling gowns moved about the ballroom as a dark-haired and distinguishing looking man pivoted about in response to the name being called. Even within the confines of the crowded hall, the man was able to balance his martini in one hand while waving with his other at the young lady who had beckoned him.

"Miss Friedens! How wonderful to see you tonight!" he replied. A few people glanced their way to see if there was some little bit of gossip to absorb but quickly turned away as to not attract attention to themselves.

"Lamont," she said, "we've bumped into each other at these gatherings quite enough over the years that I think you've earned the right to call me Eloise."

"True enough, true enough!" he responded with a broad smile as he leaned forward for the customary kiss on the cheek. "How have you been?"

"Daddy's stocks are up so things are quite well. But I'm much more curious to hear about your little adventures! Tell me, is it true you lived with savages in the Far East? Everyone is talking about it!"

"Are they now?" Lamont questioned. He lifted the martini to his lips but it was mostly for show. He very rarely took a drink at these functions as he found it easier to simply blend in naturally. "Heavens knows why. I didn't do anything very exciting over there. Some small investing here and there but the trip was mostly to relax."

"Well…perhaps not _everyone_ is talking about it, but I certainly am curious to know more. Lamont Cranston, I believe you owed me a night out before you left rather abruptly two years ago."

"I'll have to make sure I have some time to--"

"Cranston! Where have you been, my boy?"

Both turned at the sudden entrance of a third party into their conversation. The booming voice was the signature of the city's illustrious mayor, which more than one person had claimed was the reason he kept getting reelected. Ever present, his assistant rode his heels as the mayor shot over to Lamont.

"Mayor LaGuardia! To think I almost didn't come out tonight. It's a pleasure, sir."

"Nonsense, boy, nonsense." The mayor shook Lamont's hand furiously, as if the polls closed in just a few hours and he desperately needed the votes. "You don't come out often enough! Why is that? Surely you wouldn't want to be away from a lady as lovely as this?"

"Mr. Mayor, you're too much!" Eloise implored, regardless of the fact she had taken a step closer to the mayor and matched his stare.

"Well, you know me," answered Lamont. "My night life has always been…diverse. Speaking of which, I really must get going. Nice seeing you again, Eloise. I promise you'll get that night out on the town from me before you know it."

With a few puzzled looks and several waves goodbye from around the room, Lamont excused himself to the coat room. Once retrieved, he quickly donned the apparel and stepped out into the brisk night air, the cold snapping at his throat.

No sooner had he stepped outside then twin headlights flicked on and a yellow taxicab lurched forward to stop just in front of him. Lamont, ignoring the cold, yanked open the back door and slipped inside the cab.

"Have fun, boss?" asked the driver.

"No, Moe." It was Lamont who had replied but his voice was different…almost like it belonged to another person entirely. It was deeper and more crisp. "The Shoeshine Club used to be a place I liked to frequent but tonight I had a different motive than mingling."

The cab shot forward into the busy traffic on Layden Avenue. Moe Shrevnitz, as the driver's license on the dash read, was one of the more colorful cabbies in the city. It was his goal to get his passenger wherever they needed to be before they knew they needed to be there.

"So where to now, boss?"

"City Hall," Lamont replied. "The mayor's assistant was at the club tonight so that means no one is in his office. I need to take a look at the permits recently given out to some of New York's more colorful residents. Certain properties near the harbor were sold recently and I need to find out what the owner's intentions are."

"Whatever you say, boss."

Moe shifted gears on the '35 Studebaker-turned-taxicab, vaulting the vehicle passed other cars. As he did, Lamont removed his overcoat, setting it beside himself on the backseat of the cab. With practiced swiftness, Lamont unbuttoned his blazer and yanked off his bowtie.

"Did you pick up my 45's?" asked the now even raspier voice of Lamont.

"You bet! Grabbed them earlier this afternoon from your man downtown. He said he drilled out the barrels and adjusted the triggers just how you wanted, boss. Check the secret compartment and you'll find them all polished up and ready to go."

As Lamont pulled off his tuxedo shirt, he reached down and flipped a switch under the passenger side seat. A rather large drawer clicked open at his feet, revealing twin 45 caliber pistols, which were indeed polished. Also inside the drawer were a heavy full-length coat, wide-brim hat, shirt, cape, and scarf. The coat, shirt, hat, and exterior side of the cape were solid black while the scarf and inside of the cape were a deep, blood red.

Lamont quickly donned the new clothing, shoving the pistols into a set of shoulder holsters that rested between the coat and cape. As he did, the shards of light cast by the passing street lamps swept across his face, illuminating it for brief moments. Just as his voice had become more hardened, so did his features. Lamont's eyes and nose were all that could be seen once his scarf was in place, and each of those now seemed more rigid and cold.

"Stop here, Moe," he ordered.

Moe did as he was told, bringing the cab to a quick stop at the head of an alley. The back door of the cab quietly opened but no one stepped out. Moe looked at his rearview mirror, expecting to see his employer, but instead saw only an empty seat.

"Go get 'em, boss."

----------

"Hurry up, ya mooks!"

Freddy Gonzo felt comfortable issuing orders at his fellow wise guys. For someone like Freddy, power wasn't something you had all the time. He exercised whatever small amount of power he could, when he could. The other men may not have liked it much, but the Big Boss had put him in charge of this operation.

"We're moving as fast as we can, Freddy!" defended one of the men. The rest thought it best not to bother arguing and tried to continue their search. They had been given a specific job to do and none of them wanted to go back to the Big Boss empty-handed.

"Not fast enough! Now quit your yapping and pick up the pace!"

The mayor's office was a mess. Filing cabinets had been knocked over once their contents had been expelled around the room, papers littered the floor, and desk drawers had been rifled through as well. The four men in pinstriped suits had made it seem as if a hurricane had blasted through the room.

"We need to find those permits," Freddy yelled to the gang. "The Big Boss is gonna have our hides if we don't deliver before--"

"**_Before what, Freddy?_**"

Freddy jumped at the echoing voice. None of his men had said it, he was sure of that. A shiver ran up and down his spine as he looked left and right, trying to find the person who had spoken in such an eerie manner.

"**_Before someone gets hurt?_**" offered the voice. Whoever it was, he began to laugh. The laughter pierced through the shadows of the dimly lit office and slapped each crook in the face like a wet palm.

"Maybe we oughta get the hell out of here, eh Gonzo?" one of the men managed to blurt out.

"It's…it's just a trick is all! Unstrap your piece, all of ya!" Freddy Gonzo prayed the confidence he was trying to force into his voice was actually coming through. The truth was that Freddy was ready to pass out.

"Forget it!" another of the men hollered, this one wearing a grey fedora. "I ain't taking on no ghost!"

The man gripped his fedora to his head and made for the exit, jumping a turned over filing cabinet in the process. He made it to the hallway outside the office and just beyond Freddy's line of sight. A few seconds later, the man screamed, sending another chill up and down Freddy's spine.

His screams were cut short by two muffled _cracks!_ and then there was silence. A moment later, the man's grey fedora rolled back into the room, coming to a stop at Freddy's left foot.

The mysterious voice started laughing again, even louder than before.

"**_I know, Freddy. I know about what you did to that little girl. I know who you're working for. I know what you're willing to do to get what you want. None of you can keep anything from me, especially you, Freddy Gonzo._**"

Each of the men in the office were shaking. Freddy was the first to open fire, shooting randomly around the room. The two other men quickly followed suit, shooting hot lead into the walls and ceiling. The voice's laughter only roared louder, matching the volume of the gunfire.

"Who the hell are you?" screamed Freddy. "You don't know nothing! Ya hear me? Nothing! You don't know--"

"**_The Shadow knows, Freddy!"_**

"The Shadow?" asked one of the goons, his own voice beginning to screech with terror. "Maybe…m-m-maybe we ought to bail, Freddy! I've heard things about that Shadow guy. They say he can't be killed! They say he'll pull ya into the dark and you ain't coming back!"

The laughter continued to roar on, bouncing off the thin walls of the office. For a split-second, Freddy thought he saw something move in one of the corners. Were his eyes playing tricks on him?

"That's a load of bull," Freddy said. "Ain't no such thing as this Shadow guy."

"Well, then, who the hell is laughing? Huh? You answer that--"

"Shut up!" hollered Freddy. "Lemme think for a second!"

**_"How long did it take for the girl to die, Freddy? After you left her there in the alley, bleeding, how long did it take? One hour? Two? Does the Big Boss know you killed his god-daugther?"_**

The remaining two gangsters looked at Freddy, questions covering their expressions. Freddy started to noticeably shake as the deep voice laughed yet again.

"Shut up! I…I don't know what you're talking about! Don't listen to him, boys! He's just trying to confuse us!"

"What should we do, Mikey?" asked one of the men who had turned to face the other. "I don't know what we should--"

A gloved hand reached out from behind the man, yanking him back into the part of the office that was completely dark. The man yelled in surprise, and even managed to fire off a round from his handgun, but the sounds of the struggle quickly ended with two more swift, muffled _cracks!_

"Lewis?" Mikey asked, swiveling his gun to point into the darkness. "Lewis? Say something!"

The laughter abruptly stopped, leaving the room in eerie silence. Freddy squinted to try and make out what was happening on the far side of the room where Lewis had disappeared. Mikey stepped forward, gun raised. It was hard to describe…Freddy had never seen anything like it. If he lived through tonight he honestly wasn't sure that he would be able to explain just what had happened.

It looked like black smoke, but it wasn't quite smoke. More like…wisps of darkness. A fist momentarily appeared in front of Mikey, punching him right in the chin. As soon as the fist had connected, it evaporated away into the wisps again. Mikey stumbled back, shocked. Before he could regain his composure, another fist suddenly appeared, this time hitting Mikey with a left-hook that would have made a professional boxer blush. Once again, as soon as the fist followed through on the punch, it evaporated away again.

Mikey fell back into the desk, rolling over onto the floor. He was knocked out cold from the strange assault.

"Jesus!" Freddy screamed. "Who the hell are you? How did you do that?"

Some invisible thing smacked the gun out of his hand, startling him. Freddy took in a quick breath as he was lifted a couple inches off of the floor by the lapels of his pinstripe suit. His eyes opened wide with disbelief as a tall man dressed all in black materialized from the wisps of shadow right in front him, revealing how he was held up in the air.

"You're going to deliver a message for me, Freddy," the man said. His voice was no longer reverberating off of the office walls, but it was still raspy and frightening just the same. "You are going to tell Big Boss that the Shadow knows what he's up to. Then you're going to leave town for a long, long time. If I ever see you again you're going to end up just like that little girl did."

Sweat ran down Freddy's face, glistening in the dim light of the office. He tried to murmur a response, but his throat had closed up from sheer terror. He could scarcely breathe now, let alone offer a retort to the man's comments.

Then, in the blink of an eye, the man faded back into nothingness, dropping Freddy on the floor. The laughter started again but quickly faded away into the night. Minutes passed with Freddy just sitting on the floor, unsure of what to do next. The sweat was beginning to bead around Freddy's temples – he was still terrified beyond his control. What was he going to tell Big Boss? Should he continue to search for the permits? Had the crazy guy in black really left?

The questions continued to swirl through Freddy's head but there was one thing he was absolutely sure of: he needed to get out of there. He would figure out what to tell the Big Boss later…right now he needed a drink. Maybe he could figure out how to explain this to his employer after a few belts…

Freddy jumped up and scrambled for the door, leaving his gun behind. The brisk night air stabbed at his lungs and the smell of the street cleaner's ammonia enraged his nostrils but he paid them no attention. He had to get away from whatever that…man was.

Two blocks away he finally made up his mind about what to do. Running right passed the closest speakeasy he ducked down an alley to take the straightest root to the Big Boss' hideout. As much as he wanted to toss back a few rounds of whiskey he wanted to not be bothered by that creep again. That guy knew what was going on in his head somehow and Freddy Gonzo didn't want to give him any reason to come after him again. He would follow the instructions to the letter, ending with him leaving town. Permantly. That meant delivering the message to Big Boss first.

----------

The Shadow waited on the rooftop of City Hall, keeping the side exit of the building in his field of vision. His cape billowed behind him in the soft breeze, the crimson lining reflecting bits of moonlight. Tonight had proved eventful even though he hadn't found the permits he had originally gone to the office for. By pure luck he had entered the building while the gangsters were rifling through it. He had suspected the connection between Big Boss and the mayor and was hoping to find proof of it in the permits. Apparently, Big Boss had realized the same thing and was trying to destroy that evidence.

The side door opened, catching the Shadow's attention from the sound of hinges desperately crying out for lubrication. Freddy Gonzo stumbled out into the alley, making an immediate break for the street. He looked disoriented but that was to be expected. In the few months that the Shadow had made himself known to the underworld more than one criminal had that look plastered on their face. It made the Shadow smile slightly underneath his blood red scarf.

His teacher in the Far East had given him the ability to cloud the minds of men, allowing him to instill fear all that much easier into his prey. He could enter their minds and see what evil lurked within them. For Freddy Gonzo, the Shadow barely had to scratch the surface of his psyche to discover which buttons to push.

As the moonlight dissipated behind a passing cloud, the Shadow vanished into the darkness. Another benefit of his studies, the Shadow had seemingly become exactly like his namesake. None could see him unless he willed it. Even if Freddy looked directly up at him from the street he wouldn't be able to see the Shadow following closely. Even better than finding the documentation in the mayor's office, the Shadow would be led directly to the Big Boss himself.

The night was young and the Shadow had much work left to do.

----------

**_Shadowy Casefiles_**

So…why the Shadow? There are tons of other characters out there that I could spend my time on, so why this particular one?

I saw "The Phantom" movie, starring Billy Zane, when it debuted in theaters years ago and hated it. Well…maybe 'hate' is too strong a word. I didn't like it very much. Recently, however, I found myself renting that film and watching it again, just to try and remember why I didn't enjoy it.

I was shocked. While the movie was by no means worthy of an award it was still a fun and enjoyable movie. I couldn't believe I hadn't liked it when I was younger. Bad taste on my part, I suppose. Hindsight is 20/20 after all.

Anyway, it got me thinking about pulp heroes in general. What other pulp heroes were out there? Where were they now? Moon Man, Green Hornet…all interesting but not nearly as cool as the Shadow. I remember loving old tapes of the radio show and the film based on the character, starring Alec Baldwin. Here was the coolest pulp hero ever – and he was virtually forgotten in comics. Say it ain't so!

I've done my research and I'm trying to deliver this new series in the old pulp style, even using specific font to try and get the visual perception right. Hopefully, I'm doing the character justice.

-D. Golightly

8/1/06


	2. Meeting with the Big Boss

_Greed, crime, and apathy plaque all. Evil lurks around every corner as well as within the hearts of men. There are but few who seek to bring Justice to those who would harm others. Among them, a lone figure with the power to cloud the minds of others and the ability to meld with the darkness which sprung him. Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!_

----------

_**The Shadow**_

Issue #2

"Meeting with the Big Boss"

----------

_**New York City, 1938**_

The Shadow could think of better ways to spend his nights. For the last ten minutes, the dark sleuth of the night had been tailing Freddy Gonzo, a smalltime hood and coward. The Shadow had met up with Freddy at the mayor's office, where he had foiled an attempt to steal evidence linking Mayor LaGuardia with the Big Boss, New York's most famous crimelord. Freddy had been scared silly and was now unwittingly leading the Shadow straight to his employer.

It wasn't easy keeping up with the crook. While Freddy could dodge down alleys, the Shadow was forced to leap along the rooftops as best he could. It was a good thing Lamont Cranston had picked up more than just mental discipline during his travels in the Far East. His leg muscles would have been screaming otherwise.

"Out of the way, ya damn cat!" hollered Freddy as he stumbled into several trash cans to avoid a stray. One thing was for sure: a blind man could follow Freddy with as much noise as he was making.

The Shadow had no fear of being spotted by the hood. The darkness of the night clung to his cloak like an invisible blanket, making him completely safe from any prying eyes, including Freddy's. The only thing he was unable to hide was his own shadow, cast by the wavering moonlight. The old man had warned him of that…

Soon, Freddy reached his destination. The underworld kept its secrets well and the Shadow would have never found this place without Freddy's help. At almost the exact center of town was the Rimshot Hotel, the apparent home and headquarters of Big Boss. The Shadow watched from a rooftop across the street from the establishment as Freddy entered through the front of the brightly lit building. Sneaking into a dimly lit office was one thing…walking into a building shining like the sun was quite another. The Shadow would have to find another way to follow his prey inside. First, however, he needed to contact one of his agents at the local precinct…

----------

"Freddy, you numbskull!"

The insult was followed up with a quick wrap around the head. On the receiving end was the still frightened Freddy Gonzo, shaking in his pinstripe suit and smelling of salty perspiration. The antagonist was none other than the Big Boss himself. Dressed in plaid pants held up by suspenders reaching over his massive shoulders, Big Boss was a visual display of his own name. The man was simply large, weighing at least three hundred pounds. His stature, however, almost brimmed with self-confidence and authority. There was no doubt that among all the men gathered in the room, he was the one in charge.

"Ya didn't get the permits like I told yoose!" Big Boss said.

"I couldn't, Boss! The Shadow was--"

"Don't gimme those crap excuses," the large man said, cutting him off. "There ain't no Shadow! Where's Mikey? And Lewis? And Leroy? Hell, did ya lose everyone tonight?"

"I done told you, Boss. The Shadow showed up before we could--"

Another slap to the head shut up Freddy this time. The smalltime gangster flinched in minor pain, slouching back to join the rest of his associates lest he take a third smack.

Big Boss turned around in disgust, dropping the thick book that was in his hand. Despite his lazy dialogue, Big Boss was one of the most cultured men Freddy had ever known. He reasoned that was what made him a step above himself. Freddy had never even heard of "War and Peace" but he guessed it was something without any pictures.

"Those permits link me to the mayor," said Big Boss. "He sold me that property down by the docks so that I wouldn't have to haul my imports the whole way across town, risking the attention. I can't believe yoose screwed this up. All I told ya to do was get into the office, mess it up a bit, and make off with the permits. You good for nothing…"

No one else in the room made an effort to defend Freddy. They all knew the consequences of going against Big Boss. Several of their former comrades now lay at the bottom of the Hudson, secured to the depths by large weights fashioned from cement. There were seven other people lining the edges of the room beside Freddy and Big Boss, all of them trying to make it seem like their attention was drawn more to the fichus than to the squabble before them. Several other men in pinstripe suits like Freddy's averted their eyes while a few girls who had been brought in for entertainment simply sighed.

"The mayor may be getting kickbacks from doing business with me, but that don't mean I can trust the snob!" he yelled, waving his arms slightly. "He could decide to bring down New York's biggest crime boss so he can bolster his own image with the voters! All he has to do is change up those permits a little bit and it will look like I've been extorting him!"

None of the lackeys offered up any suggestions. They all knew better than to make a comment when their employer was this upset. Once he vented his frustrations he would come up with a logical solution to their problem – he always did.

A slight breeze moved through the expansive room, causing the plants to gently sway and the gaudy chandelier to jingle. They were all gathered in the living room of the penthouse suite, many stories above the street. Since the Big Boss owned the hotel they could be in any room they wanted, but the large gangster had filled this one with art and decoration in an attempt to bring a bit of class to his crew. He spent most of his time here, sending out orders to his soldiers on the streets.

"If I had a nickel for every time I--"

The lights along the walls all suddenly went out, leaving the large room to only be illuminated by the jewel-encrusted chandelier. Refracted light danced along the high walls and ceiling, occasionally showing the confused faces of people scattered throughout the room. One face in particular, however, was covered in terror.

"No!" Freddy screamed. "It's him again! He's coming here to get me!"

"Shut up, ya idiot!" ordered Big Boss. He didn't know what was going on but he had strong doubts that anything having to do with this Shadow character was true. Rumors had been swirling among his troops but he knew better than to encourage any superstitious garbage. Criminals were cowardly enough as it was. "It's just a fuse or something. Eddie! Call the boys downstairs and have them take a look."

A man with a thickly greased mustache made his way to a telephone mounted to the wall and picked up the receiver. After clicking the cradle several times, Eddie looked back at the large man with a look of confusion on his face.

"Phone is out, Boss. Ain't nothing there."

"Well, get your skinny ass down there yourself and take a look!" Big Boss shouted, his patience beginning to wear thin.

No sooner had Big Boss finished his sentence than a large _snap!_ sounded through the room. It had come from somewhere above them…but before anyone could tilt their necks back to see what had caused the sudden noise the chandelier came crashing down in the center of the room. Everyone, even Big Boss, jumped in utter surprise from the resulting explosive of glass and wires.

The room was totally dark now. A decent amount of moonlight shone through the windows, but it barely allowed anyone to see a hand in front of their face. Freddy Gonzo had fallen to his knees, arms covering his scalp in a feeble attempt to shield himself from the flying bits of chandelier.

Then…the laughter started…

It was both deep and high-pitched, berating them all with queer cackles. Somehow, it echoed all around them, foiling any attempt to pinpoint the source. It was the same laughter that Freddy had heard at the mayor's office barely an hour ago.

"Oh, God…" Freddy whimpered. "It _is_ him! It's the Shadow! He's gonna kill me!"

"**_Condolences are in order, Freddy. You led me right to him,"_** the dark voice said, reverberating off the walls in an eerie manner. **_"The self-appointed lord of the underworld! The Big Boss himself. Your crimes are greater than most others. I know what sins lie in your past and tonight you pay for them."_**

"Parlor tricks!" Big Boss scoffed. "Where are ya hiding? How many guys you got with ya? Eh? Someone downstairs to cut the power?"

"I'm all around you, Francis. I exist wherever the light refuses to shine. I have no need to enlist others. I am here alone but you'll find I am more than is necessary to bring you crashing down!"

"H-how…how did you know my real name? Nobody knows that!"

The insidious laughter began once again, subsiding only so the strange voice could utter a few more words. **_"The Shadow knows!"_**

"Find this guy and take him down, boys!" ordered Big Boss. He wasn't sure who this guy really was, but he did know one thing: he couldn't be bullet proof. "Search the whole damn building if ya have to!"

The unmistakable noise of handguns being cocked and loaded chirped from where the other gangsters were standing. The laughter continued to roar but it was different now…somehow it seemed more focused.

Shots rang out from the center of the room but they weren't from the Big Boss' henchmen. Light flashed from the muzzles of twin 45 caliber pistols, both of which were pointed at the goons lining the walls. The quick stabs of light briefly showed the man holding the weapons, standing just in front of the chandelier, as he squeezed both triggers again and again.

Big Boss had never seen anything like it…the muzzle-flash didn't so much reveal the shooter as it did unveil him. In truth, the light seemed almost…afraid of the man. The _blams!_ from the assault matched his maniacal laughter that still coursed through the large room.

The women ran and the lackeys all slumped to the floor, motionless. Blood began to pool under each of them, seeping out of the various holes that now permeated their bodies. The barrage stopped and the gunman's laughter had finally begun to die down. His cloak flowed behind him in the soft breeze still moving around the room, now tainted with the smell of death. In the dim light, Big Boss could see his face was mostly covered with a scarf as crimson as the blood now seeping into his expensive shag carpet. Beneath that mask, however…was this madman actually smiling?

"You ain't taking me!" bellowed Freddy from behind the man dressed in black. Freddy held aloft a thin podium that had previously held up one of the many statues in the room, swinging it with deadly intent. He charged the man and swung his impromptu weapon but was blocked by the dark man's left arm at just the right spot. The two stood there, struggling against each other.

"But I already have you, Freddy…" the man murmured, just barely loud enough for Big Boss to hear.

Freddy felt something pressing against his stomach and looked down to see the other pistol still in the man's hand, now buried in his gut. In the time span of a single heartbeat he pulled the trigger; the flash suppressed this time by Freddy's own body.

"Who…who are you?" Big Boss asked. He was in a state of shock after seeing this strange apparition tear through his men…like a demon of some sort.

"I'm the one who knows all about your dealings with the mayor," the dark man answered as Freddy dropped to the floor. He turned to face the large Italian, a hint of superiority in his movements. "You're going to pay for your crimes, Francis. Justice has found you and I am her messenger!"

"I ain't afraid of you!" Big Boss fingered the trigger of the Thompson submachine gun resting behind him. No one made threats like that against him and walked away to tell the tail. Another second and he would get the drop on this intruder.

"You should be…" the man chuckled. His wide-brimmed hat kept most of his face hidden but the rest of his body somehow stood out in the darkness, even though he was apparently all dressed in black.

With practiced motions, the intruder slid his pistols under the folds of his cape. This guy must have thought Big Boss was unarmed. Big Boss mentally smiled to himself, preparing for the perfect opportunity to pump this man's body full of lead.

"Betting on that Tommy Gun to stop me?" the man asked in his raspy voice. "Don't look so surprised. I already told you, Francis…I'm all around you. I know everything about you."

"Wha…j-just die! I'll kill ya! Go to hell, you psycho!" Big Boss slid the weapon off the table behind him and began spraying the room with bullets before the tip was even pointed at the man.

Amazingly, every single bullet missed. The man flung his cape up quickly and dodged to the side, avoiding the streaking ammunition. Faster than Big Boss could follow, the man appeared in front of him and grabbed the gun in his hands, yanking down on it hard. The submachine gun ripped out of his hands and out of his control. With another swift movement, the dark man shoved the butt of the stalk into Big Boss' throat, causing him to stumble back, gasping for air.

"Out of the millions of people coming through this city everyday," he began, dropping the bulky gun to the floor, "you twist and contort that which is good more than most. Convicted killers would blush at the acts you've committed! But don't worry, Francis. I'm not going to kill you. I'm going to spare your life. You're going to prison for a long, long time. Everyday for the rest of your life, I want you to remember that I let you live and that I am in complete control of your life. I can come for you whenever I choose, regardless of where you are. That means I know own you, Francis. How does it feel? What do you think about not being in control of your own life?"

Big Boss couldn't speak; his throat was closing up from the brutal hit it had received. He could only manage to gasp in an effort to suck in the precious air around him.

The man known as the Shadow walked forward and grabbed Big Boss' suspenders. With a decent amount of effort, he managed to raise the large man's face to meet his own. "Know this, Francis Turiano," he said through the red sash around the bottom half of his face. "I _will_ come for you. One day. You will live in fear of the next time you see me. Until that day I want you to lay awake at night, wondering and waiting. Just like those whose lives you have ruined with your greed, you will feel as if your life has been forfeit."

The Shadow released him, allowing Big Boss to slump down onto his knees. The pain in his throat was dissipating and it was beginning to get easier to breathe. How could this have happened? How could he have been humbled by a man half his size? He was the Big Boss of New York…at least he had been…what was he going to do now?

"As easily as I cloud your mind I can already feel your fear," the Shadow said.

The light seeping in through the windows waned for just a moment, but it was all the Shadow needed to disappear. Big Boss opened his eyes as wide as he could, but to no avail…the Shadow was no where to be seen. Then, the laughter started once again. Echoing off of the walls, it terrified him to the core of his very soul. Truly, this man that had broken him was so much more than a mere human…

Sudden pain rushed through his nerve-endings once more; a well placed chop to the back of his neck knocking him unconscious. The scene the Shadow left behind him as he moved back out the window he had easily entered through was one of total chaos. When the police arrived shortly to carry away the crimelord they would be confused as to what exactly had happened. There was already no trace of the Shadow left behind in the room…save for his insidious laughter still echoing off of the walls.

----------

"Mr. Mayor!" a random reporter yelled from the crowd. "Mr. Mayor! What of the accusations Big Boss Francis Turiano made against you this morning during his arraignment?"

Mayor LaGuardia scrunched his face slightly. The gathered men and women before him were all clamoring for his attention and it was getting more than a little annoying. It was barely passed nine in the morning and already he felt worn. It was going to be a long day.

"Those _false_ accusations you speak of are just the ramblings of a well-known crime figure trying to cop a plea," the mayor said, his voice booming over the crowd. From his perch atop the highest step leading into the courthouse he had no need of special equipment to enhance his voice. "The Big Boss of New York has been brought down and this city's citizens can sleep soundly tonight."

From behind the large crowd of reporters stood a lone man, impeccably dressed, as he was known to be. He smirked at the mayor's comments, slightly amused as his assistant ushered the reporters away and escorted the mayor back into the courthouse. He knew of the connection that the mayor was trying to avoid.

"Excuse me, aren't you Lamont Cranston?" a soft, feminine voice said from beside him.

Lamont turned, slightly surprised to see she had gotten so close to him without him being aware. Normally he would have sensed a person getting so close…

"Yes," he replied. "Guilty as charged. What can I do for you, Miss…?"

"Lane," she said, tilting her head slightly as she smiled. "My name is Margot Lane."

----------

_**Shadowy Casefiles**_

In researching the character, I decided to set this Shadow series in 1938. I just wanted to point out that LaGuardia is the actual name of the real mayor of New York City during that time. It was rumored that Mayor LaGuardia had some connection to known criminals, but I'm unaware that anything was ever proven. This being fiction, I thought I would have some fun with it.

I also wanted to take this opportunity to point out that my version of the Shadow is going to be slightly different from the famous radio and movie versions. The characters in my series are more like tributes to their original versions. You'll see what I mean when I delve a little deeper into Margot Lane in the near future.

As always, feedback is welcomed! E-mail in comments, I beg of you!

-D. Golightly

8/3/06


	3. Beware the Kobra

_Greed, crime, and apathy plaque all. Evil lurks around every corner as well as within the hearts of men. There are but few who seek to bring Justice to those who would harm others. Among them, a lone figure with the power to cloud the minds of others and the ability to meld with the darkness which sprung him. Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!_

----------

_**The Shadow**_

Issue #3

"Beware the Kobra"

----------

_New York City, 1938_

"Lane," she said, tilting her head slightly as she smiled. "My name is Margot Lane."

"A pleasure to meet you, Miss Lane," Lamont said. His eyes swept over the woman, taking in her obvious beauty. However, there was something else about her. Something not so obvious…

"I hope I'm not disturbing you but I wanted to introduce myself," Margot said. "My uncle and I were at the Shoeshine Club last night but you left rather abruptly before he could arrange for us to meet."

"Your uncle?"

"The mayor," she replied, blushing slightly. "He said you were back in town recently, and since I was new to the city, he thought you might enjoy showing me the sights. I suppose he thought you would want to reacquaint yourself with New York, Mr. Cranston."

Lamont ran a hand through his slick, black hair. The cool morning air bit slightly at his lips but it was far from the worst winter the city had seen. He had heard that last year's was something to write about but he had been overseas at the time. Since his return, his nightlife had preempted him from catching up on his favorite hotspots. Perhaps he would show this attractive young lady around town.

"I suppose you're here to meet your uncle?" Lamont guessed.

"Yes. He said this business with Big Boy wouldn't take too long. We're going to grab an early lunch. I had a feeling you would be around, and the next thing I know, there you are!"

"Big Boss."

"Pardon?" she asked, leaning forward, an eyebrow raised slightly.

"You said boy," he explained. "This whole business is over a man named Big Boss Francis Turiano. He was apprehended late last night after an anonymous tip was called into the local police precinct. I'm not quite sure of all the details, but I believe your very uncle has important light to shed on the subject."

"Well, whatever the reason I was hoping--"

Lamont turned quickly at the sound of a car horn blaring loudly behind them. Normally he wouldn't give the annoying noise a second thought, but this car horn was a unique one. It belonged to his personal driver, a cabbie named Moe Shrevnitz. Moe was waiting exactly where Lamont had left him this morning, resting by the curb outside the courthouse. The driver was sitting behind the wheel of the yellow cab, an anxious look on his face.

"I'm sorry," Lamont said, turning back to face Margot. "I just remembered I have an important engagement that I can't afford to be late for. Shareholders' meeting. Very important. Another time, Miss Lane!" he called over his shoulder.

Lamont, in his usual manner of self-importance, quickly made his way to the waiting cab, yanking the back door open. Moe stepped on the gas before the door was even closed and the yellow cab launched out from the curb. Other cars swerved to avoid the cabbie's mad route as Moe used the car to dive deeper into the city.

"Morning, boss," Moe said. The smell of onions permeated the inside of the automobile, a reminder of his simple breakfast.

"What's going on, Moe," Lamont replied. As with each time he slipped into the back of this cab, his voice once again darkened and became raspy. It was like a metamorphosis had overtaken him, the morning light even bending slightly in the back of the cab.

"Message from Burbank," the driver replied as he passed a folded piece of paper to the backseat. "Marked as urgent. Thought you would want to know about it A.S.A.P."

Lamont all but ripped the paper from Moe's hand, unfolding it as quick as he could. Of all Lamont's agents, Burbank was the most trusted and loyal, except for maybe Moe. If Burbank said he needed the information now, he meant it. While Moe guided Lamont through the streets of New York, Burbank guided Lamont's own agents, coordinating their efforts and maintaining contact. His job as a radio and telephone operator put him in the perfect position to intercept and pass along valuable information.

"The secret formula that Professor Tuttle was developing has been stolen!" Lamont exclaimed. "Head to the docks, Moe."

"Sure thing," the driver complied, sending the car hurtling down a side street. "Who's this professor guy?"

"One of my agents. Tuttle recently came to the city in search of another scientist to aid him in his research only to find his colleague murdered and his own life in danger. Someone had contracted a hired killer to eliminate him. I put him in a safe house so he could finish his work but apparently someone has found him!"

"What kind of secret formula is this guy cooking up?" Moe asked. The driver seemed more concerned with the question than he was the elderly woman he nearly ran over.

"It wouldn't be a secret if I told you," Lamont said with a smirk. "Just get me down to the docks. That's where I planted Professor Tuttle and that's where I'll begin my search. Before long the Shadow will get to the bottom of this…"

----------

"Who are you? Go away!"

The aged man peaked through a mail slot, shouting from behind the door. He seemed greatly agitated and so far hadn't let the door budge open an inch. There was only one entrance into the small building that had once been used as a fisherman's office and the older man was doing his best to seal it.

"Relax, Professor!" Lamont said. His voice was calm and almost melodious, a tactic he often used during business transactions. "My name is Lamont Cranston and I am also an agent of the Shadow. He sent me to make sure you were all right after he learned your formula was stolen."

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" the man said through the mail slot. His eyes peered through the small opening, trying to size up the man wishing to enter. He looked clean and friendly enough but the professor was too timid to take any risks.

The clean-cut man who had identified himself as Lamont stuck out his right hand for the professor to see. Tightly grasping his middle finger was a silver ring with a red stone embedded in the center. It was reaching noon but the sun still shown at enough of an angle for it to cast a ray over the polished stone, reflecting up into the professor's eyes.

"Ah, I see," he said before opening the door from within.

Lamont entered the small domicile as if this was his first time there, looking awkwardly around the room. Little did the professor know that as the Shadow, Lamont had used this safe house on more than one occasion.

"Good to meet you then," the professor said as he reached to shake Lamont's hand, his own ring an exact duplicate of the one he had just been shown. "I take it my message got through to the Shadow then?"

"Yes, it was routed his way and he told me to come here immediately."

"It's terrible!" Professor Tuttle hollered, throwing his hands into the air slightly. "You must get me to the Shadow so I can tell him myself what has happened!"

"Easy, Professor…" Lamont said to try and relax the aged man. "The Shadow is indisposed right now but he said for you to tell me exactly what happened. Rest assured I'll see to it that the Shadow knows what has happened."

"Well…all right," he finally agreed. The pair moved across the room to a set of small, yet comfortable chairs. Lamont noticed the room had become slightly chaotic since he had moved the professor in. Beakers, test tubes, burners, various chemicals, and rifled notebooks lay strewn about the room. He wasn't sure if the mess had something to do with the robbery or if the professor was just a natural slob.

"Start at the beginning," Lamont said. "What happened to the secret formula?"

"A group of men broke in while I was sleeping last night," he began. "They roused me from my bed upstairs with all the noise they were making down here. You can see how everything is thrown about with little regard to tidiness. How stupid I was! I shouldn't have left all my work on the tables for anyone to see. I should have locked it all up!"

"Did you recognize any of them?"

"I crept down the stairs just enough to see the tops of their heads," the professor answered as he pointed to the top of the old, wooden stairs lined with dust. "I don't think they knew I was here. None of them even looked my way. They ransacked the place and took my notes on the formula along with the samples I had derived. Whoever they were, they knew enough about chemistry to know what to take! I didn't recognize anyone but they all had tattoos on their forearms."

"Tattoos you say?" Lamont's face lit up at the mention of the distinguishing marks. He now how an idea of who had perpetrated the crime and with luck he would find them soon. "What kind of tattoos?"

"It was hard to tell," Tuttle responded. His already wrinkled brow wrinkled even more as he tried to concentrate on the memory. "It was something long that wrapped around the bulk of their forearms…a chain perhaps? I've seen sailors with tattoos similar to them; usually a chain attached to an anchor. We are next to the docks after all…"

"Could it have been a snake you saw?" Lamont asked. His suspicions had been raised and he hoped he was zeroing in on the culprits. If what he thought was correct, he knew exactly what had happened.

"A snake! Yes! I believe it was a snake I saw on each man's arm. At least, those who had their sleeves rolled up. There were a half dozen men here and I think three or four of them had the tattoo that I could make out. Do you know them? Do you know where the formula is?"

Professor Tuttle was obviously growing impatient and Lamont understood the frustration the man must be experiencing. For years the professor had been trying to develop his formula and he had sacrificed much for his work. To have it all suddenly ripped away from him must have been almost too much to bear.

"I'll relay all of this to the Shadow as fast as I can," Lamont said as he stood to leave. "Don't worry, Professor. Your work won't be lost. The Shadow will retrieve that which was stolen from you. Just have faith."

Before the professor could argue Lamont left the small building, closing the door behind him. He jogged the short distance back to where Moe sat in the cab, the engine still running.

"Moving out again, boss?"

"You bet, Moe. Looks like I'll be visiting the Kobra Klub tonight. Take me back to the mansion first, though. I'll wait for nightfall before seeing them."

The cab lurched forward and shot down the pier, a flock of seagulls desperately flapping their wings to avoid being hit. Lamont looked over his shoulder at the safe house where the older man remained, happy at least that he would finally be able to solve the murder of the professor's colleague as he now suspected the two matters were related.

----------

Robert Louis Stevenson was close to the true concept of duality. Two entities sharing the same vessel simply isn't allowed when physics come into play. To get around this, the author of _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ showed each character in control of the vessel at separate times. There was never an instance where both personalities existed at once, a piece of each person showing in the title character. It was either one or the other, but never both.

The true concept of duality rests with both personalities embracing one another while having distinct differences.

Lamont Cranston may appear to be a business man who loves water polo and martinis at the club, but his intentions are always geared towards a specific means. Every time he ate a power lunch with some business associate his ulterior motive was something to benefit his alter ago. While the line between Jekyll and Hyde was a solid black, the line between Cranston and the Shadow was a shady grey. That's why whenever Lamont smiled after shaking hands with someone he was setting up they shivered.

The Shadow moved silently within the confines of building. Dusk had barely fallen behind the ridge but he already felt safe moving about in the darkness. He had never stepped foot inside the Kobra Klub before but he had met a few of their members once while investigating the murder of Professor Tuttle's colleague. The fact that they were back now proved the connection.

Word traveled through the underworld that the Kobra Klub had branches of their organization in every major city but the Shadow had his doubts. Either they were very good at staying out of the spotlight or the rumors had been greatly exaggerated. If the reputation was true then the Shadow was very impressed, especially in their ability to work with the Big Boss. Francis Turiano hated outside influences in his city. They had either struck a deal with him or they were so secretive that he wasn't aware of their existence.

Light spilled into the hallway where the Shadow was creeping down. Glasses clinked together from inside the room and voices emitted along with the light. The Shadow could cloud the minds of men so he would appear completely invisible but the light from inside the room would prove a problem. When lit directly, the only thing he couldn't hide was his own silhouette.

The building was big enough that he had no trouble slipping inside. Moe had dropped him off a few blocks down in an alley and it took him less than five minutes to get to the roof of the Kobra Klub, the name given by several of the underworld's more colorful members. The building was run down with no records of ownership, which was how the Shadow had discovered it was secretly someone's criminal lair. According to his agent at the electricity company the building was still being powered but no one laid claim to the deed.

"Samuel!" hollered one of the voices from inside the room. "Get all this stuff together for transport! We're moving out tonight."

He had worked his way down from the top once he had successfully picked the lock for the roof access. The third and second floors were completely empty except for a few stray mattresses randomly thrown out on the wooden floors. Here on the first floor, he guessed the half dozen or so men had gathered together and were getting ready to make their getaway, probably to deliver the secret formula to their employer.

"Tonight?" Samuel responded. "Why so fast? We just got all this formula stuff last night. Our original orders were to lay low for a few days in case that professor guy called the authorities."

"The major crime boss in this city was just apprehended. Our orders have changed. New York has become too unstable at the moment and it will only get worse, drawing unwanted attention. We need to move out now." The first man had a slight accent. Most likely European and it sounded like he had a decent education.

The Shadow wasn't entirely sure what was going on. Perhaps these men _were_ part of a larger organization. Their orders had to have come from somewhere and they didn't act like regular thugs. They were smart and obviously had contingency plans. He hated not knowing the full situation and he hated even more that these men seemed to be more of a whisper in the underworld than even he was. Regardless, he had to stop them now or risk losing them.

If any of the men had been looking toward the door they would have seen a very strange sight. A dark image in the shape of a man's arm reached along the back wall with what might have been a gun in its hand, pointing at the ceiling. The disturbing thing was that the arm looked ghostly and flat. It was a silhouette cast by some unseen person against the back wall. One of the fingers wrapped around the trigger of the gun squeezed and the gunshot rang out, causing the six men in the room to stiffen and reach for their own weapons. Even if the shadowy arm looked surreal, the bullet fired from the gun certainly wasn't. The perfectly aimed shot shattered the bulb in the lone ceiling lamp, instantly causing the room to fall into darkness.

"Spread yourselves out against the wall!" the leader ordered, his accent thicker as he prepared for action. The Shadow didn't sense fright in his voice, however…he sensed tension and concentration. These men had been trained and were certainly not amateur gangsters. "Where did the shot come from?"

The Shadow heard each of the men slap against the walls as they complied with the man's order. Automatic handguns, possibly similar to his 45's, were cocked and loaded along with another sound he couldn't quite place. It sounded like metal was being unsheathed…

"Somewhere inside," Samuel answered. "None of the windows were broken. Whoever fired must be in the hallway."

Definitely smarter than your average gangsters. It was time for the Shadow to try and unnerve his opponents the best way he knew how.

He began to laugh.

The laughter sounded insidious and arcane, starting out deep and slowly rising to a higher pitch. He had been told on more than one occasion that it had made a full-grown man lose control of his bodily functions. He reveled in the fear he instilled in his prey as it made them easier to collect.

"What's going on? Who the hell is that?" another of the men asked. Fear was starting to creep into his voice, which made the Shadow smile and laugh louder.

"**_I'm your most deepest fears brought to life_**," the Shadow said, his voice echoing off of the walls. It was another trick he had picked up during his travels in the Far East. The darkness was his tool in totality. "**_I know of the resentment you hold over yourselves for the acts you've committed. Did you really think there would be no consequences for your actions_**?"

"Don't listen to him, all of you," the leader ordered again. His voice was calmer now. He was afraid but only of the fact that he would be caught somehow. His discipline helped restrain any further fright. "Samuel. Get the formula. Everyone else form up and head for the hallway. We'll plow through this mystery man."

The Shadow realized a more direct approach would be needed for this case. The training these men had gone through was apparently enough that his usual tactics wouldn't do much good. They must have been through several rather tragic ordeals to begin with. These men no longer feared death.

"**_You were hired to murder Professor Tuttle's colleague and to steal his secret formula. Consider this your warning: leave the city now and never come back. You have one minute to decide! If you stay…you will surely regret it. My patience does have a limit_**." The Shadow's laughter echoed out into a small murmur. He sensed the men inside the room were slightly confused as to what action to take. Good.

Silence boomed throughout the building. Not a single person moved or spoke. It was seemingly a standoff with neither side wanting to risk a foolish encounter. Before long, however, their leader made the decision for them.

"Open fire into the hallway." His voice was still calm and collected. It was almost as haunting as the Shadow's.

Bullets whizzed through the air and into the back wall of the hallway. The Shadow was far enough down that he was in no danger although he was slightly surprised. These men, these members of the Kobra Klub, obviously had more to them than he had initially thought. When this was all over he would have to investigate the matter further.

The Shadow crouched down low and shuffled up to the room's sole entrance, both of his 45's drawn. He swung around underneath their gunfire and began his retaliation barrage. Even without the muzzle flash to direct his fire he would have been able to see them as clear as day. The night held nothing from his eyes.

One of the Kobra members fell to the floor after having his torso assaulted with five fresh bullet holes. Another quickly joined him after the Shadow gained a bead on him by edging around the corner of the doorway.

The remaining four criminals quickly realized the Shadow was low to the ground and all of their bullets were aimed much too high. By the time they had corrected this mistake the Shadow was gone again, having rolled forward into the room and behind a desk.

"Jesus!" Samuel yelled in his own thick accent as he reloaded. The blood from his two companions was beginning to seep into the wooden floors, staining it permanently. "He killed Frederick and Nathaniel!"

"Be quiet, Samuel," the leader said. Even with two of his men dead he was still calm. The Shadow could see his feet from under the desk as he began to move closer to the doorway. None of them had been able to see him roll into the room as the Shadow had forced the darkness to crowd around him.

"**_Your life will end here this evening, Samuel, unless you give up now. I know that the fire of evil within your heart has only been fanned by others that control you. Take this free pass, as I will not offer it again._**"

"Ignore him, Samuel," the leader commanded. His accent was definitely European…possibly from some part of Scandinavia.

"**_Ignore me if you will but know that I will show no mercy for those who do not leave the criminal path. Your life was forfeit the moment you first committed the heinous acts that have brought you here tonight. Professor Tuttle's colleague was a true innocent caught in the crossfire of your actions. Punishment will find you!_**"

"I-I don't…" Samuel muttered. His gun was rattling in his grip as the fear started to work its way down his spine. Before Samuel knew what had happened, the Shadow had sprung up from beside him having silently made his way to the side of the room.

"I know what your decision is…" the Shadow whispered as terror froze Samuel solid. The Shadow grasped Samuel's hand with the gun still in it and aimed it across the room at the remaining Kobra members. The Shadow wrapped his fingers around Samuel's and pulled the trigger, emptying the clip into the hired criminals. Samuel watched in horror as his comrades were murdered indirectly by his own hand.

The leader hugged the corner he had fallen into for the small amount of protection it offered, watching the men fall to the floor, motionless. His eyes ripped themselves off of the corpses and bore a hole into Samuel, anger finally showing on his face.

"Samuel!" he blurted out, raising his gun to point at the scared man. The Shadow had let him go and melted back into the darkness. From the leader's perspective it appeared that Samuel had just turned on his own men. The leader was not pleased.

"No! It wasn't me!" Samuel tried to defend. He tossed his gun on the floor and raised his hands up to show he was no longer armed. "It was him! He killed them!"

"How dare you! The Order of the Kobra is not one you can simply betray so easily! You will die for your cowardice!" The leader drew a bead on Samuel's head and fired two shots with no regard for anything else. Apparently he valued loyalty above most other traits and witnessing his own killing each other in betrayal was one of the few things that could break his nonchalant attitude. Samuel slumped down along the wall, dead.

The leader lowered his weapon and let out the breath he hadn't even realized he had been holding in. Disappointment and a small amount of confusion covered his face. He had trusted Samuel…

"Tonight is a night for revelations," the Shadow stated as he suddenly appeared before the Kobra leader. The Shadow took advantage of his momentary lapse in memory concerning his presence and grabbed him by the collar. "What is the Order of the Kobra? Your reputation among the disgusting criminals in this city is that you're nothing more than hired thugs who collect themselves in this 'Kobra Klub.' From what I've witnessed here tonight I have been misinformed. Tell me what you know!"

The Shadow's concentration was fully on the man in his grasp. He didn't notice the sixth man behind him slash down at his back with a large blade until it was too late, the source of the metallic sound from earlier. The Shadow cried out in sharp pain as blood began to flow from his lower back and hip. The blade had cut through his cape and deep enough into him that the wound was wrecking his thought process. He let go of the leader and spun around on pure instinct, yanking out one of his pistols again and shooting the man with the blade.

The leader drove his knee into the Shadow's stomach. Pain tore through his psyche again as the breath was forced out of his lungs. The Shadow had fallen to his knees on the floor and was gasping for air from under his red silk scarf.

"The Order of the Kobra is a sacred collective that a man like you is unworthy to know of," the leader said. The tip of his weapon was inches from the back of the Shadow's head, styled in the classic assassination pose. "Now _your_ life is forfeit!"

The Shadow, bearing through the pain, flung his head back into the tip of the gun. The sudden and unexpected movement caught the killer off-guard and gave the Shadow enough to time to swing around and throw an uppercut into his groin. The man doubled over in excruciating pain, dropping his weapon. The pair was now face to face, both kneeling on the floor in an attempt to cope with their afflictions.

The Shadow was the first to act by grabbing the criminal by the neck. Through his black gloves he began to squeeze harder and harder. "Tell me everything or I'll crush your windpipe."

The man smiled slightly as he chomped down on something in his mouth. The smell of almonds hit the air and the Shadow knew instantly what he had just down.

"Cyanide capsule," the Shadow whispered as he let the now lifeless body fall from his grasp. He had heard of captured soldiers committing suicide like that in order to make certain they didn't reveal anything important.

The Shadow tried to stand and found it was almost too much for him. The blood was still flowing from his wound and he felt slightly woozy. He managed to get to the table in the center of the room, leaning on it for support. He stuffed the professor's notes into a satchel sitting there that was already full of various chemicals. The formula was safe for now. The Shadow, however, was far from safe.

Somehow, miraculously, he made it to the back alley a block away where he had told Moe to wait for him. Upon seeing his boss fall into the side of the taxicab instead of his usual invisible entrance, Moe rushed to his side to try and help him up.

"Christ, boss!" Moe exclaimed. "Are you okay?"

"Get…get me home," he managed to reply. His voice sounded frail like he was ready to pass out.

Moe took the satchel and helped him into the back seat of the cab. "Don't worry, boss! We'll be there before you know it."

The cab zoomed off into the night as the Shadow slipped away into the darkness of unconsciousness. There would be no hospital trips for him – he had made sure long ago that Moe would know what to do in case something like this ever happened. The only problem now was living long enough for those measures to actually be seen through.

----------

_Shadowy Casefiles_

I'm trying to collapse all the different versions of the Shadow from over the years into this project. I initially wanted to keep with the 'pulp noir' feel but I think I'm going to start taking this to a much darker place. That could be a result of the awesome Curt Fernlund agreeing to host this series at JLU:2001 (awesome site, by the way, go check it out). Burt has been kind enough to host this series in the Vertigo imprint at the site which tends to more of an adult theme.

This adventure was from the Shadow's perspective as the last one was from the criminal's. I thought it would be fun to see Lamont's side of it all. Oh, and don't think this is the last we'll see of the Order of the Kobra!

Also, just wanted to clarify something really quick. I got a letter from someone who had just read the second issue. He liked it but was confused as to why I was spelling Margot with a T. The answer that in the original scripts for the radio show that's exactly how her name was spelled. Margot is the French spelling and Margo is the English. It just felt better to go with the original spelling from the radio show.

As always, feedback is welcomed and encouraged!

-D. Golightly

8/15/06


	4. Mistaken Identities

_Greed, crime, and apathy plaque all. Evil lurks around every corner as well as within the hearts of men. There are but few who seek to bring Justice to those who would harm others. Among them, a lone figure with the power to cloud the minds of others and the ability to meld with the darkness which sprung him. Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!_

----------

**The Shadow**

Issue #4

"Mistaken Identities"

----------

**New York City, 1938**

The darkness always felt cold, an obvious symptom of excluding all light. In the recent years the man calling himself Lamont Cranston had learned to embrace the darkness in his other guise as the nightstalker known as the Shadow. As he rested on the back seat of a familiar taxicab, the Shadow felt a cold shiver run up and down his spine. The wound in his lower back had stopped bleeding some time ago but he had lost a lot of blood and was feeling quite woozy. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he was unsure of how long they had been traveling. If not for Moe's signature driving he would have guessed hours had passed before they finally came to a halt.

The mansion before them loomed ominously. It was where the Shadow called home, regardless of how pleasant and upper class the estate appeared. It truth, the building was much closer to how the Shadow appeared than one might guess. On the outside, the stanch estate looked clean and sophisticated with exquisite cosmetic detail. The inside, however, housed a plethora of secrets that were privy to just a select few.

"Careful, boss," Moe the cabbie said. "I got ya…lean on me."

The Shadow slipped out of the rear door and onto Moe's hefty shoulders. He was exhausted, completely taxed from the recent days of thwarting evil men. He laughed silently to himself at the idea and how childish it sounded. It was his life, however. He had dedicated himself to what he thought was a just cause.

"Almost there, boss."

The Shadow was able to raise his head enough to catch a glimpse of the front patio. The large oak door lay just beyond the stone archway that had visually stunning carvings all throughout. His red scarf, which had once been tightly wrapped around his face, was now drooping off, the scars and blemishes now showing in the moonlight. In contrast to the deep red, his blue eyes pierced the night, longingly trying to reach out and enter the home faster than Moe could carry him.

Just a few feet away from the door, Moe suddenly stopped and backed up a step. The Shadow grunted at the jarring shift in momentum, trying to lift his head again to see why Moe had halted their progress. Even with the weight of his thick cloak the Shadow successfully pulled his own shoulders up, elevating his head just enough to see something he never would have expected.

"Dear Lord!" the woman in the doorway screamed. Her golden hair cascaded down her neck and around her shoulders, gleaming in the night much like the Shadow's eyes. She looked surprised but not nearly as surprised as Moe.

The Shadow's head tilted forward, the blood rushing through his brain and threatening unconsciousness once again. The last image burned into his retina before the darkness overcame him was that of Margot Lane racing over to him.

----------

"How much longer do you think you can keep this up?" the reflection asked of him.

Lamont Cranston stood in a realm devoid of all light in front of a large mirror. His sullied reflection was thrown back in his face, dirty and disgusting. The scars were deep in his skin and his eyes were bloodshot. The weight of his body no longer held him down, as he floated in the dead space. A regular person may have assumed this was a dream but Lamont's training in the Far East had taught him to see this place for what it actually was: a vision.

"What am I keeping up exactly?" he asked his reflection.

Lamont floated closer to the mirror, the only other thing visible in this theater of the mind. Thanks to the trials he had undergone all across the globe, he was able to exert a limited amount of control over his visions. He remained aware of himself while he was unconscious, always working with his mind…although at times he had worked against it. His own self-doubt and fears sometimes got the best of him.

"This mockery of society that you call an identity!" the image said, laughing. "You go out to clubs and popular restaurants, mimicking what you see the rest of them do. You put on a mask during the daytime to look like them. You call yourself a name you have no real claim to! For what? Why do you torture yourself like this? You are not them and you never will be."

"I don't understand…"

"God created the _separation_ between day and night," the reflection explained. "You convince yourself that by donning that cape you have erected a shield against the tyranny you try to cease. Murderers, rapists, thieves, and cutthroats…they all bend to your will and you pretend you fall on the side of right."

"I _am_ right…" Lamont stated, albeit a bit meekly.

"By whose standard? I wonder, how will you be judged?"

Anger began to build in Lamont's gut, charging up his throat and begging to be released. He closed his eyes and breathed, reasserting the control he had over himself.

"Whatever aspect of me you represent," Lamont told the mirror, "I'll not be fooled by your double-talk."

"Double-talk?" the image quipped. "What reason would I have for fooling you? You are me and I am you. Admit that which we both already know. You're insane."

"I'm a guardian."

"You're a sociopath."

Lamont's anger finally got the better of him and he lashed out, lunging toward the mirror with his arm extended to grasp the image's neck. He fingers barely graced the mirror's edge before another arm shot out from his left side, clutching his forearm and holding it steady. The arm was thin and withered, obviously aged through both the passing of time and immense physical exertion.

"Calm yourself," an elderly voice said. Lamont turned his gaze to trace the arm back to an old man inside of another mirror, this one connected at the corner to the first. It was a man he had not seen for quite some time, someone he respected a create deal.

It was his teacher from the Far East, the old man…the Tolku.

"Master," Lamont said, forgetting the other image before him.

"Student," the reflection of the Tolku replied. He was easily in his late eighties and draped in an orange silk. "You forget yourself it seems."

"No, I…it's merely the exertion I've put myself through over the last--"

"Do not lie!" the old man ordered. "You would dare to sully my teachings with those poisonous lies? One lie begets another, that is the way of the snake. I taught you to control yourself at all times, not give excuses!"

Lamont stole a glance at his own reflection, which was now looking smug and satisfied. It sickened him to admit that his former teacher was right; he was avoiding the truth.

"What's happening here?" he asked, turning his attention back to the Tolku. "This vision…what does it mean?"

"It means you are at a crossroads, my student. Soon you will understand why you were given the abilities that you so gleefully use for vengeance. Your mind, while stronger than most, is still a fragile thing. There are forces gathering that would seek your destruction."

The darkness that enveloped the entire arena rustled at the Tolku's words. Lamont floated steadily before the twin mirrors, staring down each aspect of his soul, unsure of how to proceed. For the first time in as long as he could remember, the Shadow was scared.

----------

"Look, lady, I don't know who you are but you can't stay here!" Moe complained.

Margot Lane flipped the wisps of hair away from her large eyes, a motion she had casually used more than once to garner attention. Moe had carried his employer into the den, a room scented with the musk of cigars and brandy, while Margot skittered behind them despite the cabbie's protests.

"I'm not going anywhere until I start getting some answers!" she demanded. "First, I meet Mr. Cranston and I feel some sort of…connection click into place. Then he completely brushes aside my attempts to meet with him! I don't mind telling you I was more than slightly annoyed."

"Do you always ramble like this?"

Margot crossed her arms over the subtle curves of her chest. "I'm a fast talker when I'm curious. Tell me what's going on with Mr. Cranston, will you? Why is he dressed like that? And what happened to his face? And…oh my lord should we call a doctor?"

"Will you just quit the yapping for a minute?" Moe barked over his shoulder. Lamont's face was turning pale and Moe wasn't sure what to do. "I need to think."

The fire place crackled while its flames danced back and forth, illuminating the bookshelves and fine furniture. Embers floated out into the room between Moe and the beautiful Margot but quickly fizzled before touching the soft carpet. The amber light washed over Margot's face, showing a deep concern for a man she barely knew. To say they were total strangers, however, would be a misnomer. From the very moment they had locked eyes she felt like she was a part of the enigmatic socialite.

"Hey," Moe said, breaking her train of thought. "What are you doing here again?"

"Well, like I was saying…I needed to meet with Mr. Cranston but he had been keeping me at arm's length. A girl can take a hint but that doesn't mean I'm going to respect it. Anyway, I simply let myself in this evening so I could discuss things--"

"You mean you broke in!"

"Now wait just a moment!" she retaliated. "I resent the implication--oh, look! He's waking up! Is he waking up? I saw his eyelids flutter!"

----------

"My destruction?" Lamont asked the mirror.

"You must ask yourself if you are prepared, my student," the Tolku replied while Lamont's own reflection grimaced maniacally. "Are you confident in your present state? Do you truly believe yourself to be complete?"

"No man is ever complete. Those who seek rest before their time are foolish and doomed to a life stagnancy."

The Tolku smirked, the wrinkles of his face contorting into a soft smile. "You may regurgitate my lessons as much as you like, but you must believe in them or else they are just words. Do you believe?"

"Do you believe?" Lamont's reflection asked before he could answer.

"Do you believe?" a third voice pondered from Lamont's right side, startling him. He whipped around to face the new sound and was captivated by what he saw. This realm, this mindscape, was an ever-changing place. As much control Lamont struggled to grasp here he was as ineffective as a housefly is over its own life span. Joined to the central mirror much like the Tolku's was a third mirror, this one reflecting back a man Lamont had long thought dead.

"This isn't possible!" Lamont screamed, again lashing out, this time in an attempt to strike the third mirror. His fist passed through the silvery surface of the mirror, caught by the immensely strong hand of the man inside.

"What's the matter, old boy?" the third reflection asked. "You look like you've seen a ghost!"

A chill ran up Lamont's spine as he floated in the void, his arm locked inside the mirror with a man he thought was long dead, a man he had assumed the role of long ago. This third image laughing heartily in his face was one he hoped to never see again until he met up with him in the afterlife.

The final reflection looked nothing like Lamont. He was chubby with slicked back brown hair and a thin mustache. His teeth were yellow from the constant inhaling of cigarette smoke and his lower lip was scabbed from a nervous habit. The two men had absolutely nothing in common save for a single, tiny, almost unimportant fact.

They were both named Lamont Cranston.

----------

"No!" the Shadow screamed.

Margot jumped back in surprise, her one hand cupped by the other as she stumbled back into Moe. Lamont sat up quickly, the pain in his lower back leaving him for the moment. His head spun from left to right as he took in his surroundings, his eyes wide with terror.

"Boss!" Moe called out as he moved around the startled young woman. "Boss, are you okay? You were worrying me a bit."

"I…I'm fine Moe," he answered began large breaths. "How did…Miss Lane?" He looked her over from head to toe in confusion before turning to Moe for an answer, his face beading with sweat.

"She busted into the place before we got here," Moe explained. "Look, I don't know what to do here, boss! You need a doctor! I know you told me never to take you to one of those hospitals but you were dripping blood the whole way in here and--"

"It's nothing that a glass of brandy won't cure," Lamont cut in. "Call Burbank and have him send over one of our physicians. I just need a few stitches and I'll be fine."

Lamont fell back into the plush armchair, completely exhausted both mentally and physically. He pulled his red sash out from behind his neck and draped it over his lap, the fire's light licking at the silky fabric. All he wanted to do was pass out and wait for the physician to arrive, praying that even then the good doctor could complete his task while he remained unconscious. His vision was over for now and he need not fear its return upon sleeping.

"Mr. Cranston?" Margot feebly asked.

Lamont raised his head just enough to see Margot standing over him, her posture spelling out the emotions shifting around inside her. Even when frightened she was still more gorgeous than any woman Lamont had ever laid eyes on.

"Is there anything I can do? I'm sorry, I just felt compelled to find you and find out what's been happening. When we met the other day I felt…is this a bad time?"

Moe rolled his eyes as he stormed out of the den in search of a telephone. The sprawling mansion housed various phone lines, many of which were direct connections to the Shadow's agents around the city. Burbank, the operator Moe needed to summon, would know exactly what to do in a situation like this as the Shadow had given him more precise instructions. The matter of Miss Lane, however, was something Moe doubted the vigilante had ever taken into consideration.

"Margot…" Lamont began, the exhaustion showing in his voice. "I'll answer any questions you have, but can it wait until morning? You're welcome to stay here in my home for the evening. I'm sure you've already made yourself comfortable while waiting for me. Please, if you cannot pry yourself away from this place tonight then at least show me the courtesy of having patience."

Margot silently nodded and stepped back. The pupils of her eyes dilated slightly as the fire danced around the room and she pondered her next course of action.

"I am happy to see you again," Lamont mumbled. "Believe it or not, miss, I would have sought you ought eventually. We have much to discuss."

"Is it about the connection I felt? Because I was pelted with all these images and--"

"Please," Lamont stated. "Tomorrow."

Margot nodded again and turned to leave. She walked down the dark corridors of the mansion, her arms again wrapped around her in an attempt to keep the darkness away. Her head was buzzing with questions and half-answers but she decided to try and concentrate on other matters. She considered herself an independent person, no matter how many suitors tried to make her into the opposite. When she was around Lamont, however…she just felt something different, like her mind was more open.

She shook her head as she passed a room Moe stood in, who was being very animated in his telephone conversation. She supposed she could try to pump the cabbie for information but decided against it. She had caused enough trouble tonight and Lamont wanted her to stay out of it.

The moon shone through the tall windows and Margot stopped to view the night. Early in the evening the sky had been plagued with clouds but now there wasn't a single puff to be seen. It was still dark out but decidedly more clear. In the morning, when the moon was hidden and the sun glowed proudly, she would clear up a few things herself.

For now, though, she would sleep. And dream.

----------

**Shadowy Casefiles**

Is it obvious I'm trying to set up a major chapter in the Shadow's life? Maybe just a bit?

I know when I originally started this venture my intent was to keep things as deep in the "pulp" realm as I could…but I just can't resist. I've developed a fairly cool idea to try and make this series feel a little more coherent, in much the same vein as modern Batman or Spider-Man stories.

I'm also trying to bring out Margot and Moe's characters a little more, so I hope I'm not falling flat on that account. Next issue will do a lot in the way of character development. Oh, and I promise the next installment will have more action, too!

-D. Golightly

11/11/06


	5. Doppleganger

Greed, crime, and apathy plaque all. Evil lurks around every corner as well as within the hearts of men. There are but few who seek to bring Justice to those who would harm others. Among them, a lone figure with the power to cloud the minds of others and the ability to meld with the darkness which sprung him. Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men? The Shadow knows!

----------

**_The Shadow_**

Issue #5

"Doppelganger"

----------

_**Somewhere in Tibet, 1935**_

"Your mind…it is easily clouded."

The words rung through the criminal's mind, just as they had many times before. He was not used to an act of such invasion, something so thick and dense that his ego could not surpass it. This frail creature, this man who referred to himself as Tolku.

"Stop saying that!" the criminal demanded.

"But it is true," the short Asian man replied. "The folds of your psyche unravel at my merest whim. That will have to change or else--"

"Or else what?" The young man groveled on one knee, his torn silk shirt barely hanging on to his shoulders.

"Or else you will never be the man you should be."

"You're not making any sense! This…this whole place doesn't make sense!"

The gorgeous walls of the monastery he had stumbled into were sheathed in gold and silver, the value of which had caught his eye immediately. To this criminal's interest all things gleaming with monetary value were held the highest.

After quickly hiding himself inside the monastery, which seemed mostly deserted, the young criminal had tried to collect whatever bobbles of wealth he could. Not soon after he had begun, the large wooden door at the end of the main chamber had flung open and this Tolku person had appeared, somehow able to hold the criminal down without physical restraints.

"What is sense?" the Tolku quizzed. "At first my senses told me there was a worthless scoundrel seeking to take from this humble place. Then after delving into your mind I realized you were destined for more than thievery."

The gold and silver colors of the walls began to mix together, as if melting into a pool of riches. What the criminal didn't realize, however, was that it was all an illusion. What he saw as reality was actually a side effect of the Tolku's strange powers and intrusive senses.

"What do you know about destiny?" the criminal demanded from his humbled position on the floor. "Huh? D…damn china man.."

"Your ignorance is as painful as your mind is filled with refuse. We are in Tibet. Was your plane crash so horrible that you don't recall where you are?"

"How did you know about that?" the younger man demanded. "Who are you?"

"The real question," the Tolku responded, "is who are _you_?"

----------

_**New York City, 1938**_

"Wait, back up," Margot said, letting her spoon drop back into her soup. "I don't understand. You were in Tibet three years ago?"

"I was," the dashing young man across from her answered curtly. "Miss Lane, you asked to hear my history after rudely barging into my home last night. Normally I would try to excuse you from my place of rest but my powers of persuasion seemingly have no effect on you."

The couple sat at a table in a small breakfast nook in the kitchen of the large mansion. The house held many treasures displayed on the walls like tapestries, portraits, and rare art, but it still held an air of hospitality as shown in the rooms like the kitchen. Much like the owner, the mansion had no trouble showing different versions of itself.

"Powers?" Margot questioned. "So you _are_ the Shadow!"

The man she knew as Lamont Cranston shifted in his chair, obviously uncomfortable with the conversation, yet continuing it anyway. "Your intuition is astounding. You should be a reporter, Miss Lane."

"So, what exactly went on last night that you came back here all bloodied? And what was with that nightmare you were having--"

"A vision," Lamont broke in.

"Right, vision. And the connection I constantly feel between us…what is that? When we first met the other day face to face it was like my mind was bombarded with all these images."

"I'll get to all that, Miss Lane, I promise." Lamont sipped at his tea, placing the delicate cup back in its saucer. In his earlier life he had no taste for the hot liquid but since studying abroad he found its aroma more soothing than most things. He looked over Margot, realizing once more just how gorgeous she really was.

He had promised to explain everything to her, and against his better judgment, he would.

----------

The training he was undergoing was almost too intense for him to comprehend. For hours on end he found himself staring at a blank wall trying to find whatever it was the Tolku said was hidden there. It was frustrating and ridiculous, but what choice did he have?

"Relax," the old man said from somewhere behind him. "Allow your consciousness to fill the void between you and your goal. I know of the fear and resentment in your thoughts, but you must learn to control these things. You are not complete. No man is ever complete."

The young criminal continued to concentrate as instructed, the sweat beginning to bead down the sides of his face. He would rather have leapt to his feet and struck down the Tolku but he had tried before and failed miserably. He was stuck there, forced to undergo this excruciating training.

Why did the old man insist on keeping him here? It made no sense and the only answers he ever got were obscure ones that made even less sense. A bunch of garbage about destiny and how he should be better suited for the world…

It had been a month since his plane crashed in the hills of Tibet. A month since he had stumbled upon the monastery, seeking whatever he could to find a way back to the United States, his home. If it weren't for the promises of great power he would have killed himself already, his hopes for returning home all but diminished.

"Control," the Tolku said, "is necessary lest you become the victim of yourself."

The younger man, a man named Kent Allard, broke his stare and craned his neck back to look up at his instructor. He was shocked to no longer see the much older and hobbled man standing behind him like a tyrant, but a teenager with thick, dark hair that couldn't have been old enough to drive.

Kent's eyes squinted in confusion, but the teenager simply smiled. "Do you see?" the Tolku said. With a wave of his hand, the Tolku made a small gesture that blurred his very appearance. A second later, after a cloud of distortion had overtaken the teenager, the elderly man had returned. "Your mind is weak, and because of your lack of control I am able to show you only what I wish you to see."

Anger and righteousness bubbled up inside him, helping to focus his concentration. He felt his mind expand just like the Tolku had said it would, surprising him greatly, but he held to it. He refused to let the feeling pass until he could control it. It was amazing, unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

Suddenly, a tiny speck in the center of the wall he was told to stare at appeared. It slowly enlarged, spinning and weaving into an intricate painting of the landscape. It was like a veil had been lifted from over his eyes, the painting magically appearing before him plain as day.

"Your mind is no longer easily clouded," the Tolku said after the criminal gasped. "Perhaps you are closer to realizing this yourself."

"I…I don't understand."

"This mural has been here since before you arrived, only you could not see it because of the unclean wastes holding down your mind. Finally, you have broken down your own barriers. It saddens me to see that to do so you needed to channel such inner rage…perhaps you need to relish this dark persona instead of ridding yourself of it? Perhaps."

And on it went, for many more months. Meditation, restless nights, horrible dreams, visions, endless tests that seemed like wastes of time…but after a while it began to show the promise of power he had been told of. The Tolku almost seemed to cherish the time he spent torturing the young Kent Allard, somehow determined to forcibly right the man's own wrong: his very soul.

The criminal's aggravation grew to incredible heights but he retained all the knowledge the Tolku passed out. He gained the ability to cloud men's minds, exerting an amount of mental control over them. His physical prowess also increased greatly, becoming a fine tuned instrument with which to deal out his desires. It was a long process but eventually he had become a stronger man for his troubles, forced upon him as they may be.

Then, finally, nearly a year later, the criminal had an opportunity to leave of his own accord. The Tolku had been absent from the morning ritual of taking his sanity and he realized this may be his only chance to leave. Racing out the front gate, the man tasted freedom for the first time since his plane had crashed.

He was no longer a prisoner. True, he was grateful for the abilities taught to him but his hatred of being kept against his will only strengthened his anger. He longed to get back to his home town and use his newfound skills to take whatever he wanted. With the powers forced upon him he knew that nothing would keep him from fulfilling his own greed.

As the fog of the morning rolled across the dew covered grass, the man stopped once his feet touched the cool ground. He sensed something…a pressing upon his mind that sought to freeze his entire body. The Tolku.

"You would leave?" the Tolku asked through a voice in Kent's head.

"I would!" the young man screamed in reply. His body was completely immobile, yet another way that the Tolku seemed to delight in torturing him.

An image shimmered into view, that of the elderly Tolku. "Even after your very mind has been expanded thanks to my teachings?"

"Your _teachings_ serve only to make yourself happy!" Kent shot back. "You don't care about me or what I can do. Why the hell are you doing this to me?"

"I have told you," the Tolku answered. "Your path must change or you will be destroyed by your own demons. The darkness within you, like a shadow of your true self, is destined to overwhelm you. I have seen it."

The man's anger, already heightened from months and months of being treated like a child, exponentially grew into an inner burning. He felt the morning rays of the sun shirk away from his body, the cool fog creeping up around his feet. The darkness seemed to surround his body, especially the features of his face which began to twist and contort.

"_**Have you seen me opposing you?**_" he demanded, his voice becoming much deeper and louder. "_**Have you seen my fingers around your neck? I'm stronger than you think, old man. I know the real reason you've kept me here all this time, training me like you would a dog. I know. Ha. Haha. Hehehahahahaaaaa!**_"

The man's laughter enveloped the area, echoing off the monastery walls. The image of the Tolku suddenly sharpened before the man, freeing his movements with but a wave of his aged hand. The laughter ceased as the young criminal prepared to make good on his threat, stepping forward toward the Tolku.

"Hold," the old man commanded. "You have finally unlocked your inner beast and put it under your control. You say you now know the real reason I have kept you here, enforcing discipline into your being? It is because of this. I knew your inner darkness would attempt to overwhelm you, using the great potential locked within that husk you call a body. I see know that it cannot be changed, however your actions are still your own to command. What will you do now, young one?"

Kent was shocked. He hadn't expected that answer. All this time he had been confused on why the Tolku was subjugating him to this torture, when all the while it really was for his own good. The darkness swirling around him was proof of the Tolku's words and he felt the evil within him threatening to consume his soul. However, thanks to the discipline he had been forced to learn, that was no longer a threat.

Surprising himself, the man felt grateful.

"I…well…I don't know," he mumbled.

"In your home land you were a criminal, a common thief," the Tolku stated. "Here you have become so much more. Will you return to that life as you previously desired, using your newfound strength to placate to your inner desires? Or will you balance the world you formerly resided in?"

The man couldn't answer as he was so confused. For months upon end he had been under the impression that the Tolku was not to be trusted, that he could only rely on his own selfish desires and meager strengths. "What would you do, master?"

"There is a ship leaving in six months from the foot of this mountain," his instructor replied. "Continue your teachings here, then return to your country. Now, return to your chamber. You have much to meditate on."

Kent Allard, the former criminal aviator that had unfortunately crashed his smuggled cargo in Tibet, did as his new master commanded. Retreating back to the cold and dark monastery, he realized that his mind had been opened and a weight had been pulled off of his shoulders. That weight had now dispersed, moved and reformed to surround him, but it was now his to control nonetheless.

Six months passed.

The time finally arrived when Kent, now a master of his own destiny, would leave the Tolku. Kent packed a satchel of food and other necessities before parting ways with the monastery that had changed his life. He trekked to the base of the hill and followed the stream until it led him to the river, where a dock awaited him. A few dozen people milled about, waiting for departure.

"Are these ruffians the ones we're to transport?"

Kent looked to the main deck to the man whose voice had caught his attention. His chubby features and slicked back hair marked him of a higher class than all the others that worked tirelessly on the vessel. Ship hands, whose wardrobe was torn and dirtied from the general and harsh upkeep of the ship that their duties included, ran in all directions while the chubby man threw orders around haphazardly.

"Yes, sir," one of them answered. "We're scheduled to recruit twenty-five…_workers_ and bring them to New York City for employment." He capped off his sentence with a smirk, which did not go unnoticed by Kent.

Kent looked over the people waiting to board the ship again. Rags and dirt were all that covered their bodies. Most of them looked starved, others near-death. That's when Kent realized where the Tolku had sent him. This ship was no regularly scheduled transport, it was a convey meant to smuggle immigrants into the United States. Being a former smuggler himself, he knew all too well what awaited these poor fools once they boarded the ship. Their hopes, dreams, and promises would never make it back to their families like they had been assured. The better life they thought awaited them in America would be filled with nothing but sweat shops and bloodied fingers.

"Well get them on board quickly," the chubby man said. "I've been away from my lovely city for too long. The sooner we leave this rat hole the better."

The ship hand nodded and mock saluted as they parted ways, walking in opposite directions. Kent, observing the situation unfold, decided that something must be done to circumvent the ruination of these poor souls. He thought of the Tolku briefly, realizing that this was another test, his final test, but a test nonetheless.

The peasants milling about were lined up by the ship's crew and Kent casually swept onboard with them, keeping his head down. Once on deck he entered the ship's hold along with the rest of the so-called workers that sought a better life for themselves. When he felt the ship pull away from the shore and float down the river out to sea, Kent Allard smiled.

He bided his time, waiting until nightfall had overcome the ship. Once the darkness that he now could call home had blanketed the deck, Kent went to seek the arrogant American man that was calling the shots, along with the fates of those huddled below deck.

He slipped into the stairwell that led above deck quietly, molding and warping the shadows of the night around him. Once he reached the open air of the sea, the moonlight shone against his nearly invisible body, casting his own shadow back against the white moldings of the vessel. He looked at it and silently swore, wishing that the Tolku had instructed him on how to hide that dark piece of his own soul.

Carefully moving about the ship, Kent reached the main quarters where the chubby owner of the vessel sat, eating his fill of roast beef and other trimmings that the stowaways below deck could only dream of.

The fat man bit into a piece of beef that was dripping with red juice and laughed. "To think my mother wanted me to be a banker!" he said. "Ha! As if a banker could pull in this kind of money and keep it for himself."

Kent allowed his consciousness to float outward, skimming the edges of the other man's mind. He felt worry, sorrow, angst, and most importantly, fear. It was that fear that Kent would build on, adding a dash of hesitation and outright alarm. He would break this man and right the wrongs he was doing. It was a sense of justice that he needed to convey upon this man, more so encouraged by the fact that Kent saw a slice of himself in this man.

Kent took in a deep breath, and when he spoke, his voice was changed and distorted, reverberating off of the sides of the walls. "_**Good even, Mr. Cranston**_," Kent said. He felt a small amount of levity fill him as he let his own demons out from under the rock he had buried them, if only for just a moment. "_**Money is a powerful thing, Lamont. Money is what you desire most…isn't it?**_"

The chubby American, Lamont Cranston, dropped his food to the table. His mouth hung open in shock. He threw a glance at the door but saw that it was still closed. "Who's there?" he asked, a tremor of fear in his voice.

"_**Call me your conscious, Lamont**_," Kent replied. "_**I have seen what trappings are apart of your little mind, and I am ashamed for you. You feed off of the starvation of others, taking their pride and self-worth for yourself. You have sinned greater than most, and I have come for you because of it.**_"

Lamont stood up, knocking his chair over. "Where are you?" he demanded.

"_**I am all around you, part of you, near you, never leaving your side. I am the very darkness. I am hidden within your own shadow.**_"

Lamont scoffed. "Ha! Who are you really, eh? Some crazed native? Get off my ship or I'll have my crew throw you off!"

Kent, holding to the shadow-covered walls, slipped behind his adversary and took a few steps toward him. "_**I doubt you would be able to overtake me.**_"

Lamont swirled around and threw his arm out reflexively. Kent easily ducked under it and shoved his own fist into Lamont's gut, making him double over. He drove his knee into Lamont's face, flipping the chubby criminal up and over the chair that had been knocked down. Kent allowed the wisps of shadow to float around him, making him look like some kind of dark netherworld inhabitant that had stepped out of the bowels of hell itself.

"You life is forfeit," Kent said, allowing his voice to drop back to its regular tone. "You have a choice to make, Lamont Cranston."

"You don't know anything!"

"I know!" Kent bellowed. He bent down and picked Lamont up by his collar, shaking him. "The filth of this world are subject to Justice, and I am now her messenger. I'll let you live this once, so that you can lie awake at night thinking of how your life now belongs to me. I may call upon you, but for now you will live in the countryside, devoid of all your earnings, just like the innocents you sought to corrupt with your touch."

"What are you talking about?" Lamont demanded. He was twitching in Kent's grip, nervous of what the crazed intruder would do next.

"I will return in your stead, Lamont Cranston, taking your identity as my own while you rot in the depths of Tibet."

"No!"

Kent dragged Lamont to the side of the room, and kicked upon a wide port window. He held Lamont up to the edge of it, preparing to throw him overboard. "You can't do this!" the chubby man whined. "You don't know who you're dealing with!"

"It is _you_ who doesn't understand," Kent replied. "I have graced your mind and absorbed all I need to know. You remain blissfully unaware of how cold the world can be, but you will soon taste your own sick sense of arrogance."

Before Lamont could complain any further, Kent tossed him out the window and into the icy waters of the sea. He sealed the window back up, leaving behind the man once called Lamont Cranston.

Kent Allard was now in control of his inner demons, bending them just as easily as he did the shadows on the wall. He walked to a full length mirror beside the window and watched as he cast an illusion over his own facial features, mimicking his new appearance after the chubby Lamont. The crew would never know that he was an imposter, and neither would anyone back in the United States that may have any inkling of who the real Lamont Cranston was.

The new Lamont smiled, and began to laugh.

----------

"That's incredible!" Margot exclaimed.

"I don't mind telling you, Miss Lane," Lamont began as he absentmindedly nibbled at his toast, "that I have never told anyone of this story before, not even Moe. I sense something about you, Margot. Something I'm not sure I can put my finger on."

"I sense it to." Margot Lane was too astonished to finish her breakfast. The urban myth known as the Shadow that had appeared in New York City months ago had been uncovered. She knew what no one else knew. "This…clouding men's mind thing. Does that have something to do with it?"

"Perhaps." Lamont set his toast down and crossed his fingers over each other, leaning forward over the table. "Margot, there is danger coming to this city. Something evil is lurking behind a thin veil and I believe you may be the key to it all. Since I returned to this country I have discovered that things are not always as they seem, and I would ask for your help in learning the truth."

Margot nodded slowly. "Of course, of course, Lamont. I mean Kent. But…what is it that you're sensing?"

"We'll know for sure soon enough. But for now all I can say is that you're being used, Miss Lane."

"Used?" Margot blushed slightly. "How?"

"You did not come here of your own accord. I can see…well, if I may?" Lamont reached his hand out gently toward her and raised an eyebrow, to which Margot nodded again. He placed his hand on her forehead and concentrated.

After a moment Lamont pulled his hand back and gasped. "It was as I feared. Miss Lane. We're in grave danger."

"What? Why?"

"Because the man I left for dead has returned, and he has brought chaos with him."

----------

**_Shadowy Casefiles_**

Wow. It's been a loooong time since I finished off an issue of this series. The reason? Well, there's quite a few to be honest, not least among them that I got married a few months ago. Throw in a hectic work schedule, writer's block, a healthy (or maybe _unhealthy_) dose of general apathy, and you have your answer.

But anyway, I finally finished off the fifth issue after having six pages of it sit on my computer for months on end. I'll be the first to admit that the story has gotten away from me, which is another reason why it took so long for me to rope it in. Regardless, it is finished.

Better late than never? You tell me. Send an e-mail to Be nice, be harsh, be whatever. Just be honest. I'm my own worst judge, so anything you say won't hurt me. I may cry a little, but it's all good.

-D. Golightly

11/26/07


End file.
